


Better than anything he ever dreamed of

by irisdouglasiana



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, the first and still probably the best fanfic i've written tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling in some gaps for Daniel Sousa pre-season 1 all the way past season 2. Also, romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than anything he ever dreamed of

He isn’t a hero, and his life isn’t a story. He didn’t ask for medals but they gave them to him anyway. His father wanted to hang them up on a wall or display them on the mantle, but Daniel said no, absolutely not. You’re as stubborn as your mother, his father says, his voice tinged with both regret and admiration. Daniel keeps the medals inside a box, inside another box, shoved to the back of a closet. There are things about the war he wants to remember, but this isn’t one of them.

* * *

His parents saved up enough to open their deli in Little Italy when Daniel was very young. It’s always been more or less insolvent since the beginning, but somehow they’ve kept it afloat even through the depression, through his mother’s passing, through the war. It’s his father’s pride and joy. Daniel grew up slicing meats and mopping floors and washing dishes. He can easily add up prices in his head, take care of the books, and know when a supplier is trying to rip them off. In his father’s world, one day Daniel will take over the business, marry a nice girl—Portuguese or Italian, preferably—and have lots of babies.

The only problem is that Daniel hates it. He watches the world go by outside the deli and longs for it. He can’t tell his father how he really feels—it would hurt both of them too much—but he follows the news closely and watches the world dissolve into war, and when the time comes, he enlists. His father doesn’t protest or say much about his decision at all. In the weeks before Daniel departs, his father stays up later and later, and Daniel lies in bed fully awake and listens to him pace around the living room.

* * *

The war should be over for him after Bastogne, but it isn’t. You’ve changed, his father says as he trims back Daniel’s hair, but I’m glad you’re home. The thing his father doesn’t say is how guilty he feels for being relieved that his son has lost his leg, because maybe now he’ll settle down and won’t leave again. Maybe he’s had his fill of adventure. Time to hang the medals on the wall and leave that part of his life behind.

Daniel knows otherwise, but he goes along with his father for the time being. It takes months to heal, to learn to walk again, to get used to waking up to the sounds of car horns and not explosions. He doesn’t try to seek out his old friends and avoids relatives as much as possible, because they’ll want him to talk about what happened and he’s not ready for that. But when he’s well enough, he goes back to the deli and tries to slip back into his old routine. It’s worse than he remembers. The pitying looks from the regulars, the rude customers, the long hours where nobody comes in at all and Daniel is left alone with his thoughts.

The breaking point comes one afternoon when three teenage boys come in. He knows right away they’ll be a problem, but he tries to ignore their sniggering and serves them anyway. Just kids, he tells himself. But when they get up to leave and one of the boys fakes a limp while the others laugh, Daniel snaps. He steps from out behind the counter as quickly as he can and swings his crutch straight into the back of the boy’s knees. The kid crumples to the ground, howling. I can give you a real limp if you want one, Daniel spits. He gets about two seconds of satisfaction until the boy’s friends take him down. He’s still too weak to really fight back. When his father hears the commotion and hurries downstairs, he finds his son on the floor, laughing.

After that, Daniel’s father tells him he doesn’t have to work in the deli anymore. You remember the Marino’s oldest boy, Joey? his father asks him casually over dinner. He’s back from the war too—got a good job at the bank. Mm-hmm, Daniel replies. A few days later, his father says, Mrs. Avila told me her son is in law school now.

So it continues for several weeks, and when Daniel can’t stand it anymore, he writes to his former commanding officer. He doesn’t expect much to come out of it, so he’s surprised to get a call from the New York SSR office. With the war still going on, they’re understaffed, and Daniel’s qualifications are impressive. He’s in.

* * *

Daniel’s been working at the SSR for a little less than a year when he meets Agent Carter. They keep him on desk duty, mostly—a far cry from defusing bombs. He’s not surprised but he can’t help but feel a little disappointed to be left behind when his colleagues go out to the field.

The morning Carter arrives, they’ve got him reorganizing the filing system and he’s got papers and notecards and files all over the place. Chief Dooley brings her over to introduce her to him, and Daniel’s so struck by her piercing brown eyes that he can barely manage a hello. Carter has a very firm handshake. Pleasure to meet you, Agent Sousa. The chief takes Carter around to meet the other agents and then escorts her off to see the labs. Once they leave, Thompson says, So that’s Cap’s girl? I guess they just let _anybody_ join the SSR now.

Chief Dooley sends Carter out to pick up lunch orders for her first assignment, and the moment she steps out the office they start taking bets on which one of them she’ll be sleeping with first. Daniel listens and his blood pressure steadily rises. When Krzeminski tells him it’s his turn to make a bet, Daniel shakes his head. Christ, Krzeminski, she hasn’t even been here one day; knock it off. Krzeminski rolls his eyes and says forget it.

Thompson’s next. Daniel doesn’t like the grin on his face. I’ll put down twenty on Sousa, Thompson says. The office erupts with laughter. Yauch spits out his coffee and Krzeminski nearly falls off his chair. You’re killing me, Jack, Krzeminski says—you sure you don’t want to change your mind?

Thompson’s still looking straight at Daniel. No, no, he says. Twenty on Sousa.

* * *

Practically all the agents in the SSR are veterans, so there are plenty of war stories to go around. They never stop talking about how many times their lives were in danger, or the sexy French girls that fell in love with them, or how many Nazis they killed. Daniel hates these stories—can’t stand listening to Jack Thompson’s stories in particular—and never volunteers any of his own, even when pushed. He’s not out to impress them.  

Daniel’s not sure why he tells Peggy the story about how the chaplain threw his things out when they thought he was dying in the hospital. It wasn’t funny back then and in retrospect it still isn’t funny, but he can find a way to make a joke out of it and get a smile out of her. She does have a beautiful smile.

* * *

When he takes the promotion in Los Angeles, the hardest part is telling his father. His father sits across the table from him, hands folded, and is silent for a long time. I’m proud of you, Daniel, he says finally. Your mother would be too. But I’ll miss you.

He reaches out and takes his father’s hands, and suddenly they’re both crying.

I’ll be okay, Pop. Don’t worry about me.

What his father doesn’t say is, That’s what you told me before you left for the war, too.

* * *

You’ve got a great story, Vernon Masters tells him condescendingly, and up until that moment Daniel was willing to pretend to play along, but not anymore. As if everything he’s done and everything he’s been through was just to add to his resume and not because he wants to do the right thing. If he had felt conflicted before about how solving the Isodyne case would impact his career, his uncertainty is gone now. If that means leaving the SSR and getting labeled a commie and a traitor alongside Peggy, that’s what he’ll do; he told her he’d be with her until the end and he meant it.

He picks up the phone and dials. They’ve got work to do.

* * *

Even after they kiss and it seems like everything will end happily after all, they’re immediately swept up into the next case. He hopes there will be time to go see Stark’s latest terrible film, to drive along the coast, to make dinner together—Daniel is excellent at making sandwiches but otherwise has a limited repertoire, and Peggy is disastrous in the kitchen no matter what—but work always gets in the way of their plans.

They share small moments instead. They spend late nights side by side, poring over the case files and trying to figure out what they’ve missed. Usually Peggy is the first to nod off, and when that happens he squeezes her hand and tells her to go to bed. They take turns making coffee. He’s appalled by how watery and weak she likes her coffee, and she thinks he’s a snob—you’re just supposed to drink it, so I don’t see why you’re prattling on about optimal temperatures and the proper ratio of coffee to cream!

Months later, a promising lead turns out to be a dead end, and both of them are frustrated and tired. Peggy puts her head down on her desk while Daniel tries to talk it through and review the details they’ve already discussed dozens of times over. She abruptly raises her head and interrupts. No more of this tonight, she says. Go wash up and put on something nice: we’re going out.

She picks a swanky jazz club right in Hollywood. Daniel buys the first round of drinks, realizing that it’s been almost a year since he first asked Peggy out back in New York and she turned him down. He marvels at how much has changed since then and how lucky he is.

Peggy’s watching the dance floor longingly. There are some new moves he doesn’t recognize. Daniel nudges her and says, Go ahead—I’ll watch.

Peggy hesitates for a moment but then kisses him and nods, and suddenly she’s out there too, spinning and dipping with a look of pure delight on her face. She’s a wonderful dancer, far better than Daniel used to be. She comes back to their table after two fast songs, breathing a little heavily, and holds out her hand as the tempo slows and the next song begins. Will you have this dance, Chief? she asks, and all his self-consciousness and doubt melts away.

So they finally dance, just holding onto each other and swaying in time, and it’s slow and tender and better than anything he ever dreamed of.

* * *

He was good at hiding it, but after he came home from the war, he cried often. Now that years have passed he doesn’t do it as much. But every once in a while, a memory will come to him unbidden and the feelings come flooding back. He doesn’t try to fight it anymore. He allows himself to feel anger, fear, grief—whether it’s for strangers, for his lost comrades, or for himself. Sometimes he lies awake for hours and wonders if it’s all been worth it, in the end.

But then he turns over in bed and watches Peggy sleeping next to him. He brushes the hair back from her face and remembers that if he hadn’t gone to war, hadn’t lost his leg, hadn’t joined the SSR, he probably never would have met her. Daniel wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Peggy opens her eyes and smiles at him sleepily. He pulls her close, kisses her forehead, and they go back to sleep together.

 


End file.
